


Coffee, Next Time

by Typey



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typey/pseuds/Typey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas fluff for the B&W Secret Santa Exchange</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee, Next Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Attila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attila/gifts).



> Attilarrific said, "All I really need out of fic is really desperate pining where the one person totally doesn’t think the other person feels the same way and then it turns out that *gasp* they do, and there are dramatic confessions and slow-motion running into each other’s arms."

_“Later on, we’ll conspire. As we dream by the fire, to face unafraid the plans that we’ve made, walkin’ in a winter wonderland.”_

Myka ran her fingertip around the edge of her now-cooling mug of coffee. As the song faded out and another sentimental holiday tune started up, she wrapped both hands around the oversized ceramic mug. If she had been asked — if there had been anyone in her life to have asked her anything about her choices or her mood or her life — she’d have said it was to leech as much warmth from it as she could.

She’d have been lying.

It was winter, and it was crisp outside. But it was the kind of day when huddling for warmth would only be an excuse to bump shoulders playfully with a friend, or to slip a hand into a lover’s. Neither circumstance at all likely to occur anytime soon for Myka.

And she knew that the chill she felt, sitting in a warm, welcoming cafe surrounded by people in high spirits couldn’t be dispelled by anything so simple as a coffee. And she also knew that she had picked up a habit — since surgery, since that first doctor’s appointment, since going to Boone — of clutching whatever was in front of her. Just to keep her hands from shaking, her eyes from welling with tears, her heart from breaking.

She knew that not everyone in the coffee shop or passing the window in the rush of holiday adrenaline could actually be _happy_. Basic statistics and knowledge of human psychology told her that. But everywhere she looked she saw cheeks flushed from the wind adding vitality to undoubtedly joyful expressions, eyes sparkling with enjoyment and maybe a little bit of benign mischief, lips smiling through conversations with strangers and friends and quirked around the words of saccharine pop covers of Christmas music sung without irony. 

She knew that somewhere within this crowd of people excited to be bundled up and surrounded by holiday cheer there had to be someone as alone as she was.

“Myka.”

Taking several moments to let that voice echo in her head, to be absolutely sure it belonged to Helena, and to force a look as close to “only mildly interested” as she could manage, Myka slowly turned her head. And, nearly against her will and certainly against her better judgment, her breath caught. 

The way it had saying goodbye to Helena. The way it had anytime their hands had brushed or eyes had lingered. The way Myka worried it always would whenever she would think of the woman who maybe at one point could have been something more than...than a friend.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

Myka’s mind flipped through every answer she could possibly give, from the nonchalant “nope, just taking a break from shopping to sit down” to the desperate “only you.” 

She had no faith in her ability to pull off the former, as if Helena’s appearance at her side was anything other than completely overwhelming. And she wasn’t surprised at all at how many times the latter showed up in the rapid-fire mental search of possible responses, though she doubted she’d ever have the particular kind of courage it would take to actually voice that truth.

Tripping a bit over her tongue, Myka stammered “No, it’s just...just me...here. No one else.” Biting her lower lip to get control over her words, she lifted her right hand off the mug and gestured to the empty seat across the small table. 

Helena’s smile as she slid her coat off her shoulders might have been the most radiant thing Myka had ever seen. Even if she was — again — imagining things about Helena’s response to her, about how much knowledge of Myka’s feelings were behind every twinkle in Helena’s eyes, even if she were still _projecting_ , Myka did still feel her heart flutter at the sight of that smile. She probably always would. 

“Do you need a refill? Let me make good on the offer for a cup of coffee?”

Myka looked up at Helena, still standing next to the chair draped with her coat and scarf, and took in the seemingly easy posture and the playful expression — the signals that told Myka she’d been right not to blurt out her declaration of...of having been waiting for Helena. 

A half smile that she knew didn’t come close to reaching her eyes accompanied a small nod of assent.

And Myka’s chest seized as she watched Helena walk away. She knew it was only as far as the counter, but the image of silky black hair swaying gently as Helena stepped surely away from her.

Helena had distanced herself from Myka before, and tried to more times before that. Ordering coffees was nothing like Helena claiming to feel more comfortable, more at home, as Emily Lake, but Myka could barely stand even this kind of temporary parting between acquaintances in the midst of an accidental encounter.

But whatever their flirtations could have become, whatever their more-than-friends might have one day meant, whatever Myka knew she’d felt in her own heart for so long despite realizing that those feelings weren’t ever going to be returned the same way, Helena had made a choice. And Myka wasn’t part of it.

“You can let go now.” A fresh mug of steaming coffee clinked into the lip of the completely cool and empty one Myka was still gripping between her hands.

Relief that her immediate, and ridiculous, thought had been that Helena could read her mind flooded through Myka, lifting the first genuine — if perhaps not quite why Helena would have guessed — smile.

“Ah, Myka. I’ve missed that.” Helena sat down slowly, looking intently at Myka’s face, so intently that the smile faltered and brows furrowed.

“Are you all right, Helena?”

A small sigh and a wry tilt of the head, reactions Myka had once been so used to seeing, matched the vague “oh, I think I am.”

Unsure of where to take the conversation, Myka searched for neutral ground. “Are you enjoying the holidays?”

“I do find it a bit lonely, this time of year. And though I don’t necessarily care for all the crass materialism, I do enjoy the lights. Much less refined than what I grew up with, but lovely all the same.”

Myka was sure there had to have been a way to have an interesting, thoughtful conversations about holiday traditions, the meaning of the Christmas spirit in the modern world, and the transitions in culture, but she was hung up from the start on one word Helena had said.”

“Lonely?”

Another piercing look from Helena caused Myka’s eyes to drop to her mug — this one gripped as tightly as its predecessor had been. “Yes. Lonely. I gather loneliness, regret, and nostalgia are all quite common afflictions this time of year. Especially for those who have cause to regret their solitude and long for lost, perhaps even irretrievable, connections.”

Myka’s eyes darted up to Helena’s. Wary that she was misreading Helena’s intent, as she had obviously misread so much in the past, Myka took a deep breath before plunging ahead, as emotionally reckless as she could ever remember being.

“You’re lonely. And you miss me. And you’re worried you can never have me back in your life?”

No impish spark in her eyes, no pointed retort, no single-minded focus on a task, no casual flip of her hair could ever have been more exactly _Helena_ than the pleading, open look clearly seeking forgiveness.

“Yes. I am lonely, and alone. I miss you dearly, this time of year and every moment since I last saw you. And I am terrified you will never love me, that I have lost you forever.”

The world dimmed around her — the bustle of the coffee shop faded into the background, the music dropped into insignificance — nothing existed but Helena G. Wells, whose elegant hands reached ever so slowly across the table to slide Myka’s off the mug and into a gentle cradle.

And with that first, tentative touch, warmth spread from Myka’s fingertips down to her toes. Warmth that stoked a fire in her heart and lit up her spirit. Warmth that had nothing to do with the mug she’d been holding.

She leaned in toward Helena, intertwining their fingers. “You never lost me, and I will always love you.” 

A look of relief was quickly replaced by something quite different, a smoldering gaze Myka recognized but had only ever dreamt about on Helena’s face. A gaze she could drown in if she weren’t careful — and, oh god, she didn’t want to be careful, but there was so much to talk about, to figure out, to say. They had never been good about _saying_ anything, but this was one time Myka wanted words to surmount the barriers that, no matter how invisible, had always kept them from reaching across those last, smallest, most important distances.

“We’ve had our ‘coffee next time,’ but I’d really like to continue this conversation. You know, talk about where we stand, and where we’re going.”

Helena’s eyes lit up playfully. “Well, darling. I’m sitting across from you, and I’d like to take you home to my flat. I’ve got a lovely fireplace and a sinfully comfortable sofa.” Dropping the banter, she gave Myka’s hands a quick squeeze, “but I would also very much like to say the things we’d both love to hear.”

“Let’s head home, then.” 

Bundled up into coats and scarves, the two women walked through the coffee shop toward the door. And as they skirted a group of gleeful, chattering teenagers pouring in from outside, Myka bumped Helena’s shoulder, giving her a small smile. As they turned onto the sidewalk, Helena slipped her hand into Myka’s, and for the first time since their reintroduction, they were both truly at ease.


End file.
